Chapter 32
Chapter 32: Leaving in a Fit of Anger
Song Wei Chen knew exactly who had arrived.
Cold, sharp pressure rolled off Mo Ting Feng, the kind that raised gooseflesh without a touch.
“I’m done,” she muttered under her breath, guilty as a thief. “Cold-Faced Yama caught me red-handed…”
She was scrambling for an excuse when Mian Mian’s soft voice floated over.
“Brother Ting Feng… did you come because you heard I was hurt, and you came to pick me up?”
What?
So this green-tea diva was calling Cold-Faced Yama “Brother”?
Song Wei Chen’s heart sank. Don’t tell me she’d run straight into the line of fire of his fox sister…
“Ahem.” She leaned toward Mo Ting Feng’s back and whispered, “Dust Warden official… I didn’t know she was your sister. Sorry…”
The moment Song Wei Chen fell quiet, Magpie’s arrogance flared back to life. She strode up beside Song Wei Chen, face full of contempt.
“Open your dog eyes and look properly. My Noble Consort is Lord Si Kong Zhuang Yu Heng’s cousin, the Realm Lord’s most beloved Eldest Princess’s qin teacher, and the Dream Realm’s famed great talent, Ruan Xing Xuan. You hurt her for no reason today—forget everyone else. The Dust Warden official will be the first to come for you!”
Ruan Mian Mian was Ruan Xing Xuan?!
Wasn’t this the one He Ran had mentioned—the woman who’d been clinging to Mo Ting Feng in the Dust Warden hall that day?
Damn it. So she really was his fox sister.
Hearing Magpie’s words, Mo Ting Feng yanked Song Wei Chen to the front. His hand never left her wrist.
“How did you hurt her?”
“I—”
“Dust Warden official, please allow me to explain,” Shu Xue Long cut in, stepping forward.
“Shut up.” Mo Ting Feng didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on Song Wei Chen. “You don’t get to speak here.”
Then, to Song Wei Chen again: “Answer me. How did you hurt her?”
“Someone bumped into me,” Song Wei Chen said, jaw tight. “I stumbled into her. She fell, and someone stepped on her hand.”
“And then you ran up on that stage,” Mo Ting Feng said coldly, “and made a fool of yourself.”
“Huh?” Song Wei Chen’s temper snapped. “How did I make a fool of myself?”
Mo Ting Feng’s grip tightened.
Pain shot through her wrist so sharp she hissed, but she refused to look away.
“Mo Ting Feng,” she spat, “if you want an excuse to vent for your sister, at least pick a less pathetic one.”
Song Wei Chen could take softness. She could not take force.
Mo Ting Feng didn’t argue. He only stared at her, cold as steel, and tightened his fingers little by little.
Her wrist throbbed. Swelled. Turned pale, then edged toward purple where the blood flow was trapped.
She still didn’t beg.
Ruan Xing Xuan watched it all with bright, hidden satisfaction. Only today did she realize Mo Ting Feng cared this much. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have wasted time flirting with Shu Xue Long at all.
“Brother Ting Feng,” she said softly, sweetness laid on thick, “be the bigger person. For your sister’s sake… forgive her.”
Vintage green tea, aged to perfection. Song Wei Chen’s thoughts were a mess of curses.
Mo Ting Feng’s voice dropped. “Apologize.”
“Apologize to her?” Song Wei Chen laughed, bitter and stubborn. “You might as well kill me.”
Her wrist had started to swell badly, the bruising darkening into angry purples and reds. Shu Xue Long couldn’t stand it anymore. He lunged forward to force them apart—
Mo Ting Feng flicked a palm without looking.
Shu Xue Long slammed into the side, stumbling hard.
“Boss Shu!” Ruan Xing Xuan hurried to catch him, her eyes glittering with a mix of delight and fear. “Brother Ting Feng, Boss Shu can’t use spells. For your sister’s sake, please hold back.”
Mo Ting Feng finally turned his eyes—just once—sharp as a blade.
“Stay away from her,” he said to Shu Xue Long. “Or don’t blame me when I stop being polite.”
Then, with a twist of power, the world blurred.
Mo Ting Feng and Song Wei Chen vanished.
He didn’t even spare Ruan Xing Xuan a greeting.
Shu Xue Long understood. The “her” in Mo Ting Feng’s warning was not Ruan Xing Xuan.
He stared at the spot where they’d disappeared, expression tangled and unreadable.
Wind-Listening Manor. Sunless Residence.
Mo Ting Feng appeared inside the room with Song Wei Chen in his hold—one arm braced around her back, the other gripping her wrist. If her face hadn’t been ghost-pale with pain, the posture might have invited endless speculation.
When they steadied, Mo Ting Feng released her wrist.
Song Wei Chen’s eyes stung with tears she refused to shed. She bit down hard, jaw trembling.
Five swollen finger marks—red, purple, vicious—stood out against her pale skin.
Mo Ting Feng’s face remained cold, brows and eyes unmoved, but something in his gaze flickered when he saw what he’d done. He’d noticed the faint handprint on her cheek earlier too; he’d wanted to ask then, but there hadn’t been space.
“What happened to your face?”
“What, the weasel’s here to pay a New Year’s call to the chicken?” Song Wei Chen smiled, sharp and bitter. “Your good sister’s maid gave it to me.”
She glanced at her wrist and clicked her tongue. “Too bad she didn’t chop my arm off. Then the Dust Warden official wouldn’t have had to do the job himself.”
“Come here,” Mo Ting Feng said, the edge in his voice softening despite himself. “Let me see.”
“I’m not worthy.”
“If you hadn’t slipped out,” he said, half scolding, half—something else, “none of this would have happened.”
“Boss,” Song Wei Chen snapped, “I work for the Dust Warden manor, sure. But I’m not a prisoner. You people ran off on a mission without me. I was bored. I went out for a bit—what’s so unforgivable about that?”
“But you shouldn’t have gone out dressed like that!”
“This shouldn’t, that shouldn’t—fine!” Heat rose up her throat. “Everything I do is wrong!”
And right in front of him, she started stripping off the outer layer.
“What are you doing?” Mo Ting Feng’s voice hitched. He instinctively reached out—then stopped, as if burned, and turned his face away.
“I’m not worthy of wearing the clothes you prepare for those fox sisters,” Song Wei Chen said, each word clipped. “My apologies for offending you.”
She peeled down to her inner robe and skirt, set the jade hairpin on the table, and let her hair fall loose over her shoulders. Then she lifted her chin and stared at him with flat, icy eyes.
“I only want to ask one thing.” Her voice shook, but not with fear. “In your heart… was my appearance wrong from the start?”
Mo Ting Feng’s answer came without hesitation.
“Yes.”
Song Wei Chen’s laugh sounded like something breaking.
“So it doesn’t matter what the truth is.” Her eyes burned. “As long as it’s me, it’s wrong. No matter what happens, it’s my fault.”
“Song Wei Chen,” Mo Ting Feng said tightly, “you’re being unreasonable.”
She stared at him, then shook her head once—sharp and final. “Unreasonable?”
She turned away. Yanked the White Robe from the wardrobe. And without looking at him again, she cradled her swollen wrist and walked out.
Mo Ting Feng didn’t stop her.
He assumed she’d return to Venerable Manor. And his own mind was a snarl of anger and regret he didn’t know how to untie.
Deep night. No one around.
Song Wei Chen walked through the Dust Warden manor, fever creeping back in waves. Her skin burned, her throat felt like sand, and her wrist pulsed with every heartbeat.
She looked down at the White Robe in her hand and thought of the morning meeting—of seeing Mo Ting Feng’s cold, clueless face again—and suddenly felt tired to the bone.
This job wasn’t something she had to keep.
A thought flared bright and reckless: Leave. Leave this place. Leave the Dust Warden manor.
So she did.
She tossed the White Robe under the shadow of a tree and turned toward a narrow path beside Wind-Listening Manor. She vaguely remembered a side gate at the end of it, one that led out.
When she reached it, the gate wasn’t even barred.
She pushed it open and stepped into the dark.
Behind the lively chaos of Water Street, this was mountain and forest—black as ink, only scraps of moonlight on the ground. Probably the back mountain of the Dust Warden manor.
Whatever. As long as it was away.
She walked the dim path and didn’t feel afraid. People said anger was the best cure for fear, and she was full of rage with nowhere to pour it. Even ghosts and gods would keep their distance from her tonight.
After a while, her eyes adjusted. She saw faint lights down the mountain and headed toward them.
She never noticed the strange fog rising behind her—thick, unnatural, like a curtain drawn between her and the Dust Warden manor.